The Heist
by ridesawhitebike
Summary: Guns, bank Robberies, sex, drugs, rock and roll. Beats stacking shelves
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. May carry on with this. What d'you think?**

I am apparently what is known as an Unreliable Narrator. If you believe that, then frankly you get what you deserve, but hey, this is what happened, nothing left out, nothing added. Although as it's me that telling you about this, I might interject occasionally, just to set the record straight. But other than that, this is an honest an account as you're going to get, OK?

I'll introduce people in a moment, but as you're going to ask how we came to be in this hotel room bored out of our minds, well to be honest, we sort of just fell into it. It wasn't proper work, the hours were short, and it was easy, and we got loads of cash, and I'm talking fucking wheelbarrow loads of cash. Unless you maybe work for the cops, in which case ignore all this, right? Or you work for a drug dealer, or you are a drug dealer...where was I...Oh yeah; you wouldn't believe how much cash there is washing around in criminal hands. No really, it's fucking millions, and it's all fucking dirty. So if you're going to look at me like that, well you can fuck right off, OK? I've no fucking problem with robbing fucking crims of their ill gotten gains. OK?

I'll let you into another secret...Criminals, they're pretty fucking stupid. Otherwise they'd have proper jobs, right? Trust me, they're really thick, they have loads of cash knocking about the place, and they don't use banks, and because they all think they're hard bastards and no-one will rob them they just leave it lying about. Like I said stupid, right?

Any-one here from Bristol? Been to Bristol? Well you've heard of Jonny White then, yeah? Couple of years ago he got done over, that was us. I'm not talking about Tommo keeping him off his arse; I'm talking about his place being turned over. You heard about that? That was us. It was sort of Tommo's idea, he noticed all this cash coming in from drug deals whilst he was doing club nights there. It would arrive in fucking bag loads. Any way they'd stash it in this room, lock the door, leave it and go down the fucking pub to watch the football, or whatever. Like I said stupid... One night we got in, broke the door down, and robbed him. Took him for £25K. He was fucking livid, silly fucker. He thought it was this other drug dealer, so they had a fucking massive barney over it. Meanwhile we all fucked off on holiday. Sweet.

So that's how it started, once we'd got a taste of that sort of money for about half an hour's work, well, working the till at Tesco just seemed a bit fucking dull, know what I mean? We found other drug dealers, they were more or less as stupid as White really, one total twat kept it in his mums broken washing machine in his garage, I mean...duuurrrr. Fucking retard deserved to be turned over. It wasn't much though just 10 grand. Small time really. Back then we'd all do jobs like that together, but as we got better at them we'd split up, a couple of jobs a night. I don't mind saying it was a bit fucking scary the first time we did that, but after a while it got OK.

It got to be routine and a bit easy to be honest. Go to any big town or City and it doesn't take long to find the dealers, we let them find us most of the time. Follow them, have a look at their set ups, sort out a plan, and do it. Piece of piss most times, and you're walking away with a few grand for a couple of nights work. It got so that we were seeing who could rob the most dealers in one night. I think Effy did 3 one night, but I'd have to ask her.

Anyway, we were more or less working out way up to London. We bought a place. I know! With cash, how sweet was that? Counting it out in front of the fucking estate agent. Fucking ponce. We just started again, London was fucking ace. Criminals just as stupid, just more of them. I swear, right, no joke; we must have had close to half a million in cash in the house at one time. I know what you're thinking, that makes us as stupid as them having all that cash lying about, well, for your information, one; we sorted it out with a front company, and two; no one knew we had it, so no one was gonna come looking for it, were they?

From drug dealers it got onto, well, just bent fuckers really, I mean where's there drug dealers there's pimps, Sex traffickers...Oh, don't get me started, they get girls from eastern European, drug them, and force them to have sex, in the worst fucking conditions, taking money off those fuckers was like a public fucking duty. Mind you, talking of East Europeans...Russians...just don't fucking go there. They're about the only ones we won't touch.

Fucking Mental.

The lot of them. I heard stories. Stuff they do to people, it's like a fucking horror movie, like Saw, that film? You know? Russians, we just walk away.

Then we did that casino. That was fucking ace. It was a front, they're called wash houses, dirty money comes in, clean money comes in from punters. Punters go home with dirty money casino keeps all their lovely clean money; it's a front, right? Well, we fucking worked that like pros. Some of us even got jobs there, I worked behind the bar, Cook got work there, we fucking knew it inside out, got copy keys, got codes...Mind you one cost me a fucking blow job...Yeah alright, don't fucking tell anyone about that, OK? Anyway walked away with shit loads of money, about three quarters of a million. Like I said, fucking ace. So after that small time drug dealers with a couple of grand, well it wasn't fucking worth it. Only fucking downside me and Cook had to carry on working there for a few months after, just in case they got suspicious whilst they all fucked off the south of France. That was fucking hard to take. By the time we got out there, they'd sorted out the next job, talk about keen, same sort of deal, a Casino in Nice. One thing we overlooked though, French Criminals, they use fucking guns...Fuck. Me. How fucking scary. Put us right off, only just got away with that one, and to be honest, I think between you and me, that's were Panda stated going a bit, you know... well, mental.

Oh, I said I'd introduce every-one, didn't I?

Well, I'm Katie, the smart good looking modest one... Alright, Joke, keep you knickers on. Over there in the corner with the headphones on, that's Tommo. He does all our comms. That sounds well cool doesn't it; we've got these tiny earpieces and radios, that how we keep in touch on a job. He's well cute Tommo, but hands off, 'cause him and Panda are all together. One time though I was having a bath, and well he'd locked himself in with me (don't ask) , and well, long story short, we very nearly...Right next to Tommo that's Effy, she and Freddie, that's him with the scruffy hair and the dope habit, they're fucking inseparable, He's a good shag though. That's my sister, Emily, and her girlfriend Naomi, out on the Balcony. No, you heard right, couple of lezzers. Right, don't get me wrong, nothing against homos; they can do whatever they fucking want...Look, I'll let you into a secret, a while back, I was coked up, and well there was this girl, and yeah well, in the name of experimentation I sort of...Well, it was alright, not something I'd want to do again, it lacked a certain...firmness? Know what I mean? Where was I, Oh yeah, the lezzers, Naomi, she's alright I suppose, we get on better than when I first met her, and she gave Emily a fucking hard time, but I've got to admit they're pretty fucking close now. Next to her that's JJ, he pretty much runs things, pretty smart, him and Naomi, they sort out all the small stuff and they run the front company. They get all suited up, meet banks the whole fucking works, one bank was so impressed with the figures Naomi gave him; they wanted to give us a loan. Fucking priceless. The bloke with the tramp stamps, that's Cook, he's a bit of a tit if I'm honest, but he's a good laugh. Haven't shagged him. And then there's Panda, right...She was, she used to be loads of fun, bit ditzy, you know, but a good laugh, but after that casino job in France, well she sort of changed, wants to go tooled up all the time, you know? Guns. Well the boys don't fucking mind do they, it's like a remake of gun fight at the OK fucking Corral here sometimes, Effy she goes along with it, just shrugs, I know Ems and Naomi don't like it much, although they've both learned how to use them, me? I refuse to have anything to do with them.

So, that's us...Fucked up, bored wanted in a few countries. Rich. Addicted. Which goes some way to explain why we're in this fucking hotel room all waiting for Pandas meeting with fat Albert to happen so we can get on with this job. Oh, and if you're ever in the area, fucking avoid Denver like the fucking plague, it's a fucking shithole.


	2. Chapter 2

The reason why Rodriguez Sastre Candil de Silva was nicked named Fat Albert has been lost to time. He is neither Fat nor is he called Albert. It is so ubiquitous that even his own mother calls him Al. It is both at once at complete pain in the arse, and a doorway into a world in which he now moves comfortably. Fat Albert is a gun dealer, a dealer of death. Whatever you want you go and see Fat Albert talk nicely and a few days later you'll get your wish. Do something stupid that might lead the weapon back to Albert, and you'll get a visit from one of Albert's many many contacts. Some of who may merely wish to have a quiet word with you, with a brotherly arm around your shoulder. Some, on the other hand, will drive you; semi conscious out to the hills, and dispose of your shallowly breathing body in an equally shallow grave.

He awoke that morning with what can only be described of as a sense of foreboding. Something about the woman he'd met a few days ago through another contact had put him ill at ease. Fat Albert had seen many people on the edge of sanity, the woman he's seen that Tuesday would have been more than comfortable in their company. But still, a deal's a deal, and Fat Albert was damned if he was going to miss out of the money, or in fact risk the word go around that he's refuse a deal because the buyer was a young woman even if she was of dubious mentality. Besides which she'd put down a hefty deposit which had more than covered his costs already. A few hours in the company of a crazy English girl, and an easy stack of Gees. Too good to miss.

His dog Cassias is barking in the yard, he rolls out of bed, and walks though the small ground floor flat to let the dog in and give it it's breakfast, he checks over the large box on the kitchen counter top containing all the small handguns she wanted; nine in all, and a further four assault rifles, plus a thousand rounds of ammo. Whatever she was planning, he hoped he was out of town when it went down. The object propped up in the corner of the small kitchen was the thing that had given him the most grief to source; it was a .50cal sniper rifle. A huge hulk of a thing fully four feet long, firing giant milk bottle sized rounds that could go through cars like butter, and even brick walls from miles away. It was a fearsome bit of kit, and his contact in the Marines had at first been reluctant, a reminder of his involvement in Federal offences was enough however, and the weapon had been delivered as required. All Fat Albert had to do now was load the lot in the boot of his car, drive to the meet, take his money, and forget all about the crazy English girl and her crazy plans.

**OooooO**

Panda checks her watch, "alright Eff, let's go, JJ have you got keys for the car?"

JJ throws them over to her "Cheers, big ears," she smiles, saunters over to Tommo, "You want to come?"

Tommo looks up from his work with Freddie, they're studying some electrical cabling lay-out plans, "No, I've work to do here." He leans over Freddie, kisses her "Be safe, Ok?"

"Okally-dokally", she smiles and waves cheerio at Emily and Naomi sunning themselves on the small balcony, gets a wave back from both of them, and starts to walk to the door.

JJ looks up from some paperwork "Oh, and Panda, try to stick to the speed limit around town, I'd like not to have to deal with another ticket, it's brings attention, OK?"

Panda looks abashed, "Yeah, sorry 'bout that, got a bit carried away, naughty Panda, "she slaps her own wrist. Smiles, unwraps a Cola Chupa-chups, and swinging the keys around her finger walks out the hotel suite, Effy following.

The lift plays bland music, as their own little private joke, Panda and Effy rock out to it, like they're listening to some sort of thrash hard-core speed death metal, throwing their hair around, and playing air guitar to the almost soporific melodies. Old couples stare at them, and move as far away from the pair as the confines of the small box will allow.

The lift pings as it reaches the underground car park, and they stop the arsing about, and, as always try to remember where they left the rental car. As always they forget, and as always they have to call upstairs for the number plate, and go play a dull round of hunt for the car. Finally they find it, parked across two bays, with a not so nice reminder from the hotel about the benefits of valet parking. They toss for it. Effy wins and elects Panda as driver for the day, and settles herself into the passenger seat. Panda climbs in behind the steering wheel. And so begins the hair raising spectacle that is Panda driving. People worry about Panda when they see her dancing. After they see her driving, they worry about every-one else.

As driver Panda gets to choose the radio station. They've all discovered though that pretty much every radio station plays soft Rock pretty relentlessly, either that or religious tub thumping, or right wing ranting shock jocks. They've banned those stations after they had to physically restrain Naomi to stop her calling in, they take her threats to firebomb the station concerned as only half a joke. Panda pulls into the late morning traffic, they roll their eyes as the first strains of Hotel California come from the Radio.

"Is there some law that says they have to play it at least twice an hour d'you think?" Asks Effy.

"I even heard some bloke request it the other day, "moans Panda.

Effy checks the map, "next left, I think", she looks up, "yep that's it Dover Street, pull over outside no 44."

They roll to a stop behind a green Ford; they see the driver check his rear view mirror, and the passenger look around. They nod briefly, and open the doors. Panda grabs the sports bag from the back seat, and climbs out, Effy following. Panda looks over at the two men approaching her, once, skinny as a rake, she met the other day, the other is huge, fat, must weigh at least 30 stone, he makes the outsized basketball shorts he's wearing look like hot pants, it's not a pretty sight, she leans over to Effy, "The little one is fat Albert" and wanders over hand outstretched. Effy looks confused for a moment, shrugs, puts on shades and her iPod, and sits on the bonnet smiling sweetly at the giant.

"All right Fatty," panda smiles, "How's it going?"

"How's what going?" Fat Albert looks confused.

"You know… life," Panda looks unsure, "It's just an expression, like Howdy- doody, y'know?"

Albert shakes his head, "Have you got the money? I want this done quickly."

"Calm down, lovely, "Smiles Panda, "lets 'ave a gander at the goodies first"

Fat Albert looks at his giant companion, who looks back, they shrug; turn to look at Panda "What?"

"The guns, let's have a look at the guns" Panda smiles again thinks how fucking stupid are these blokes.

Fat Albert, looks her up and down as if weighing her up, shrugs, and turns to open the boot; he steps to one side as Panda reaches in. Effy joins her at the lip of the boot.

"Well?" she asks after a minute's silent contemplation of the arsenal in front of them.

"The Glocks are all fine, no desert Eagle, Cook'll be pissed off. The rifles are old, but they'll do, apart from that one, its barrel is bent", Panda pauses, looks at Fat Albert, "Where's the fifty?"

He indicates the back seat, he leans in and uncovers the huge rifle, rather than pull it out onto a suburban street Panda climbs in. she expertly pulls the cocking mechanism, looks all over the rifle, and climbs back out. "The breach is all scratched, and the workings are all a bit shabby, "she shrugs, "It'll probably do, give him the money Eff."

Fat Albert puts the money bag on the bonnet of the car and counts the fat bundles, as the two girls carry all the heavy boxes to their own car, he makes no move to help them. They are done finally, and Fat Albert slams the lid of the boot down.

"Pleasure doin' business with you, Pandora" he smiles.

"Likewise, Let's hope we never meet again…" She smiles sweetly, and jumps into the driver's seat, Panda pulls away quickly, but comes to a stop a couple of hundred yards up the road.

"Oh fiddle, she says, "Wait here Eff, I forgot something." She leaps out of the car.

Effy looks over, iPod still in her ears, "You want me to come?"

"No, you stay here, won't be a minute."

Panda jogs back to where the green Ford is still parked. She reaches behind her, and pulls the small .22 from the waist band of her short skirt, she screws on the silencer. She steps to the passenger side, and without pausing fires two rounds straight into the giants head, she steps around the car, she can see Fat Albert struggling as the Giant as fallen onto him, and she pulls open the driver's door.

"What the Fuck" Fat Albert looks at her.

"No offence Fatty, but you can't live I'm afraid, sorry. "Panda smiles at him, places the gun at his temple and fires another two shots.

Panda watches mesmerized as two trickles of blood run down the window, they look almost as if they are racing, and ever so gently she places a finger at the bottom of one of the trickles, she stares at it as it rounds and pools on her finger.

"We have a winner." She says quietly to herself. She reaches in a grabs the small sports holdall. Jogs back to the car where Effy is still listening to her iPod, facing the other way. She looks up as Panda approaches, sees the small bag, and frowns. "What happened?"

"A refund, he saw sense about the crappy fifty, wasn't that lovely of him?" Panda jumps into the driver's seat again,

"Off we go, shall we get Ice creams?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N this is sort of falling into a character per chapter, so I'll carry on like that for a while, OK with you? Some-one asked me whether I had experience of guns? Err no...It's just my fevered imagination I'm afraid and too much late night coffee and googling...** **Thanks once again for all the reviews, and the update request, you make it all worthwhile. This story started off slightly different, but it seems to have a life of it's own now...**

"Hi, my name's...err Sophia...I'd like to make a comment on the show please?"

"Ok, Sophia, "You're on the air with Kent Welsh of KRDL88.1 the God Channel, what do you want to say?"

"I'm asking you to stop using the word faggot...its offensive"

"Well, Sophia, God thinks faggots are offensive." Kent is bored; he's had this conversation too many times with fags, he's in command here he thinks.

"Does it worry you?"

Kent leans forward in his chair "Does what worry me Sophia?"

There's a pause, "That you might be one? That you might be so anti, because underneath all the bluff, you are? Does that worry you?"

Kent cuts his hand across his throat towards the engineer "Thanks faggot; I'm a God fearing family man."

The line goes dead in her hand. She smiles.

**OooooO**

The bedroom door is opened, and Emily walks in, "Oh, here you are." She sees the phone in Naomi's hand, "Who're you calling?"

"Oh, no-one, just my mum." Naomi smiles.

"Really?" Emily shifts her weight, hand on hip, she narrows her eyes.

"Really" Naomi is all innocence; she gets up from the bed, walks across to Emily, and plants a kiss on nose, "I Have to get ready to go to work."

Emily frowns, "When do you get a night off?"

Naomi thinks for a moment, not till Thursday, 2 days."

Emily sighs, having Naomi working nights at the casino was hard, sleeping alone was not something she wanted to get used to, and it wasn't made any easier during the day, Naomi generally came home in the early hours, crawled into bed as Emily was getting up and slept until later. And they'd recently begun to argue over Naomi's obsession with some of the more right wing Radio that they'd stumbled across on the car journey from the Airport "Noams, please don't call those awful radio stations any more, OK? It just winds you up."

Naomi stops dead in her tracks, she decides to come clean, "OK, no more, promise"

Emily puts her arms around Naomi's waist, "Freddie, and JJ want to talk to you, they think they may have found a way in, OK?"

"Finally, "Breathes Naomi "I was beginning to think they just liked me dressing up in that." She points to the costume on the bed; it's a gold lame short skirted Toga affair. Vulgar in a way only a casino could ever come up with. She starts to undress, grabs a towel, and heads for the shower, Smiles over her shoulder at Emily, "You coming?"

Naomi tries adjusting the short skirt so that not so much of her arse is on show, simultaneously trying to pull it higher up her chest, so that not all her cleavage is on show, Emily watches from their bed, "Suits you, you should dress up more often..." Naomi looks at her, wonders where she's heard that before.

"C'mon, let's go and see what the geniuses have come up with this time"

They walk into the large living room area of their Hotel suite, just as Panda and Effy come back in. Tommo walks over to them and gives Panda a hug, "Everything go OK?"

"Absolutement "Panda Smiles, hands over the holdall still filled to the brim with money, "Fat Albert had a change of heart."

Tommo looks surprised as he looks into the bag, as panda walks to the small kitchen area to get a drink Tommo moves closer to Effy" Did she seem OK to you today? Did she do anything, y'know, odd?"

Effy looks at him, "This is Panda we're talking about, yeah?" She laughs, "No nothing odd, or least nothing odd in Panda's world," she shrugs "I didn't see anything, it all went without a hitch"

JJ looks up, as Naomi walks over, he looks her up and down, shakes his head and a smiles at her, "Never get tired of seeing that"

"Fuck off, JJ," Naomi smiles at him, "Ems says you got something for me to actually do tonight"

JJ looks about for Freddie and Tommo, they wander over, and the others crowd around as well, as Freddie begins to talk.

"Right, we've looked at the wiring plans, and we think we've found a way in, the alarm is connected to the cashiers lock down cages. All routine so far, but it looks like they did it on the cheap." Freddie looks up, pleased with himself. The others look at him expectantly, finally Naomi asks

"So?"

"Oh, right yeah, sorry. "Freddie pulls out some plans points at a highlighted area, "It's all on one power supply, and it's just a switch. He says with a flourish.

JJ nods and smiles, "Nice"

Tommo leans over shakes Freddie's hand, "Top work, man, nicely done."

"Right, all very interesting," Begins Naomi," what does that mean in the real world?"

"It means, my little Roman flirt," Freddie looks at Naomi's legs appreciatively, as Naomi squirms a bit. "All we have to do is reverse the switch, so that when the alarm goes off, the cages stay open, but we have to get in there and fix the switch first. I'm hoping they'll have a contract company to look after all that sort of stuff. We need to find out who the emergency repair company is, you know? Who they call out when it all goes tit's up. So we need you to find the details of the company, we'll get Cook to borrow a van from them for a bit, run an intercept on the casino telephone line, and bingo, we're in. When we're ready in a couple of days, you can go in and bust something to make them call us out, OK?"

"Like what?"

"Doesn't matter; throw something at a telly or something."

**OooooO**

Lt. John Edney grimaces as he climbs out of his police car, his stomach's been cramping all evening. Too much coffee, and not enough food he thinks. Like most of the City Detectives he lives of a diet of late nights, not enough pay, and a complaining wife, throw in too much stale coffee, and convenience food, and you get your very own ulcer after only 5 years on the job. He walks over to the Green Ford, stands looking for a while before asking to no-one in particular.

"What have we got?"

Lisa Carpenter looks over from the other side of the car where she's deep in conversation with the Forensic Sergeant, she waves at John, who in turn is pleased to see her, Lisa's a competent if slightly over-enthusiastic cop, with her personality and red hair, she suits her office nickname of the Duracell Bunny. She walks over to him on the pavement.

"Hold onto your hat," She pauses for effect "Victor Hernandez, and Rodriguez de Silva."

John is genuinely surprised "Fat Albert? Really, you sure?"

Lisa nods, "Check it out, looks like a hit."

John looks sceptically at her, "A hit? C'mon Lisa, you and I both know that's a movie plot." He looks over her shoulder at the bodies, as Lisa continues.

"You think? Check this out, .22 double tap to both victim's heads, no other signs of struggle or violence, "she pauses, "That my friend, is a hit."

John gives a low whistle, he's still surprised at the victims as he checks out the bodies more closely, Lisa continues "Shoots Victor first, he falls on Albert, walk round, finish off the job. No-one heard shots, so I'm assuming silenced. You have to be real close for a silenced .22 to do the works. Checked out with Forensics, he agrees, gun at the temple, real close."

John nods. "Ok, you want to go with it?"

Lisa smiles, "Sure."

They fall silent for a bit, before John asks "Anything else?"

Lisa nods, "Partial print on the window, they're trying to lift an impression, and a witness from across the street claims he saw De Silva talking with two young women."

"OK, talk to me in the morning at case review, you need anything?"

She shakes her head, "Nope, I'm good I think, I'll call you if anything turns up."

John nods. Great, he thinks, there are any number of lunatics ready to fill Fat Albert's shoes, and its not like he didn't have any enemies. Right now, he didn't need a turf war, or an assassin roaming his streets.

**OooooO**

At 3am Naomi finally clocks out from the Coliseum Casino. It's been a long night of feeding drinks to overweight American tourists losing money at tables and slot machines. In the movies, she thinks Casino's are glamorous places full of dinner jacketed men, and women in evening gowns, in reality it's Bill and Ethel in elasticated slacks wasting their pensions in soulless carpeted halls of one armed bandits. She shakes her head, as much fun, she thinks, as a trip to the dentist. The highlight so far was being asked to keep the whales at the top table plied with drinks one evening. Whales are slang for high rollers, mostly men who spend thousands of dollars per night at Blackjack or poker tables. She was amazed by the amounts they spent, and mentally rubbing her hands together thinking that it would soon be hers.

She stands at the staff entrance, fires up a cigarette breathes in deeply, she fishes out her mobile, and starts to send a text to JJ, it says simply "Denver Electric and Wiring" and their phone number. As other waitress walk past her nodding their byes, she walks purposefully to the car; she has work to do before she goes home.

**OooooO**

"Wake up" It's terse, a command, not a request.

He's not used to being spoken to like that, and he wakes quickly, looks briefly over to his bedside clock squints 03.40AM. His attention turns back to figure sitting in the shadows at the end of his bed. His heart hammers in his chest. The figure is clothed in black with a tight fitting face mask, all in black; he can't even make out whether it's a man or a woman.

"Who are you, want do you want?"

"Who I am isn't really important; this is about you Kent, not me."

It's the voice of a young woman he thinks, his mind races, and suddenly he remembers the alarm. He coughs, regaining his poise.

"What a surprise. "He says loudly, "Yes, what a surprise." He says again just to be on the safe side, he relaxes a bit, the voice alarm he had installed should be activating now, and soon this would be finished. He smiles grimly. The figure at the end of the bed seems relaxed, doesn't move, and doesn't say anything, as Kent once again says aloud, "A surprise indeed."

The figure sighs, "Kent," she starts conversationally, "I ask myself why a good God fearing man such as yourself would need a voice activated alarm, when all I want to do is a have a chat, so y'know, I turned that little thing off, so we can chat a bit, OK?"

Kent rolls over quickly whilst the figure speaks, and grapples with the headboard over his head, a hidden door slides out and there in his hand is a small handgun. He points, and pulls the trigger, it clicks. The figure opens her hand, and the bullets roll onto the bed and floor, the figure shakes her head." You done?"

Kent feels his bowls loosen, and for the first time since he was 7, Kent Welsh wets the bed. "Wwwwhat d'you you want?" he asks again, his voice trembling now.

"Oh Kent, look what you've done to these lovely sheets..." the figure stands, "Still, it'll all come out in the wash I'm sure. The figure reaches into a rucksack by the floor, pulling out a folder, and continues "Took these a few days ago from your lovely garden, Kent, you remember, Monday? When your wife left town to see her mother, and you invited Gary round. "

Kent groans to himself, he feels the tears falling on his face, he whimpers like a child, "Anything, I'll give you anything. I have money."

"I don't need your money Kent; I want something else from you. The figure pauses, looking at the photos, puts them out on the bed, "This one of you sucking Gary's cock is nicely framed don't you think?"

Kent is crying like a baby, "What d'you want, I've done nothing wrong."

"I want you to publically retract all the things you said about homosexuals, Kent, otherwise, I'll send these to your wife, and the papers. Do this on tomorrow night's show, I'll be listening, OK?

Kent nods mutely. The figure nods once in agreement, and turns to leave, Kent surprises himself, by asking "Is that it?"

The figure turns to face him. "Yes, that's it; it's your choice Kent. I'm going home now." The figure climbs silently out the window, pauses once to look at Kent, before dropping to the garden below. Kent scrabbles around for some bullets, and loading them feverishly goes to the window, but the figure has already gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Apologies for not updating, I've been busy. People do insist on giving me work, and the bastards even sometimes insist on deadlines being met, it's a liberty, let me tell you. In the meantime, back in Denver...**

Cooks waits for Katie as she throws a half finished cigarette onto the ground in the underground car park. She breathes out the smoke, and climbs into the passenger seat. Without waiting for her to put on her seat belt, he puts the car in gear and reverses out of the bay with a satisfying 70's cop style screech of tyres, and heads for the exit. Katie raises her eyebrows as she pulls on the belt and fastens it, but says nothing. As they climb the exit ramp, Cook flicks on the wipers, and turns on the headlights. The rain falls in fat heavy summer drops. The wipers only just seem to cope.

He turns on the radio on, and the now familiar sounds of Americana fill the car, they listen to what Katie thinks is an REM track, and as an advert for haemorrhoid cream starts, she sighs heavily and turns it off. Cook looks across at her, but doesn't turn it back on again. They continue in silence, the only sound in the car is the SatNav directing them to their destination.

Katie stares out of the window as Central Denver gives way to downtown, the malls and bars seem to blend into one. Cook makes seemingly random turns. Her breath fogs the window. She closes her eyes for a count of three, opens them again. Nothing has changed.

"Fucks sake" she mutters under her breath.

Cook looks at her, "What?"

She shakes her head says nothing for a while, and then "Have you seen Tommo's back?"

Cook glances at her again. "Bit random."

Katie breathes in "Have you though, seen it?"

Cook considers it for a moment, "It's not something I've paid attention to, no. "He states. "Can't say that I've asked him to let me check out his back. Why?"

"Saw it the other day, it's covered in scratches and bruises. " Katie falls silent again as Cook makes no comment for a while. After making some turns Cook stops at a red light.

"Perhaps they like it rough?" he shrugs

Katie nods, "Perhaps."

Cook starts the car as the lights go green. He pulls into a side street, and he turns off the engine. Katie can see the sign for Denver Electrical and Wiring swinging above them from the warehouse they're parked next to. They sit in silence for a good five minutes hoping the rain will ease, when it becomes clear that it's not going to any time soon, they look at each other, and Cook reaches behind him to the back seat for the bag of tools and pulling on jackets and baseball caps they get out of the car. They are more or less instantly soaked. They squelch along the pavement, and go round to the back of the building to a yard. There's a double gate made of wire mesh, it's held together with a hefty length of chain and a padlock. Cook gives the gates a good solid rattle, and they wait, backs against the fence.

"Cook," Katie begins as they wait, "D'you not think Panda's a bit out of control?"

When it becomes clear that no dogs have heard the fence rattle and are not coming running to see what's going on barking furiously. Cook puts down the bag and pulls out his set of locksmiths picks. He holds the large padlock up to read the name on it, selects a couple of the larger picks and inserts them, pulls a smaller different shaped one, and inserts that above the other two, and gently wiggles. Nothing. He tries a different set, with the same result. Katie sighs, they've all learnt how to pick locks and given enough time, Cook would get there, but she has a defter touch, and she wants to get out of the rain. She pushes him aside, and pulls out the picks, swaps some others over, re-inserts and turns slowly, feeling for the notches, and tumblers, it clicks, and springs open.

"In what way, out of control?" Cook asks as they drag open the gate, and walk into the small muddy compound.

"Ohhh, where shall we start?" Katie asks sarcastically, "Oh, I know. The guns, her general weirdness, the fact that she's a fucking liability."

They walk over together towards a small panel van; Cook and Katie walk around it looking for bald tyres and bust lights, getting pulled over by the cops for a broken rear light in a stolen van is amateur hour. Katie sees one of the tyres is nearly down to the wire. She shakes her head, and they move onto the next van.

"Have to spoken about it to JJ or Naomi?" Cook asks.

Katie stops in her tracks; finally her voice is slightly raised. "Fuck sake Cook, since when did we all fucking stop thinking for ourselves?"

Cook finches.

Katie carries on with her rant. "Fucking JJ and Freddie and Naomi, who fucking appointed them in charge, eh? All they do is look after the front company, it's not like we fucking voted for them." She pauses, nods in agreement about the van they're looking at. "I'm sick of this Cook. We do all the fucking work, and look at us, knee deep in shitting mud, breaking into a van in some wanking part of a fucking dump. What the fuck are we doing?" She leans against the side of the van as Cook gets to work springing the lock, he uses a thin long piece of metal with a hook on one end, sliding it carefully in-between the window rubber and the door, he finds the lock, and pulls gently, it clicks, and pulling the tool out, he opens the van door, reaching over to let Katie in and finally out of the rain.

"You could always walk Katie, nothing to stop you." Cook gets to work on the steering column, breaks away the plastic surround, exposing the wiring loom.

Katie sighs "I know." She stares out of the window for a bit. "I just didn't think it would be like this, y'know? I imagined," she trails off, then. "The Seychelles, Bahamas maybe, some fucking time off, not some dingy casino in Denver. It's too much like; I dunno...work, y'know? She stops, run out of rant.

Cook fiddles with some of the wires, before pulling two away from the loom. He strips away a length of casing from them, and twists the exposed wires together, then selecting a screwdriver specially filed for the purpose he jams it into the lock, and turns. The engine coughs, he turns again, and it fires, running smoothly. The radio springs to life. They sit and look at it as they listen.

"_I'm Kent Welsh, and I have a statement to make, it's come to my attention that some of my... erm some of my listeners...are shall we say offended by my use of certain words..._

Cook switches the radio off, he huffs a laugh, "He sounded like he had a gun to his head."

"Don't change the subject Cook," Katie says, she pauses, "I am going to leave I think, but first... we need to talk about this job, you and me."

"You and me?" Cook looks at her, "In what way, you and me?"

"As in splitting it two ways rather than between all of us. " Katie won't look at him.

Cook says nothing, turns off the engine, not for the first time they sit in silence together.

Katie stares out of the windscreen, starts quietly "C'mon Cook, look at us, we used to do fucking drug dealers because they're scum, we made good money. OK that first casino was a front, but France? This one? These aren't run by fucking crooks, these are proper businesses, we've turned into fucking criminals Cook, and fucking Panda's going to drop us all in the shit." She falls silent again.

Cook says nothing, closes his eyes. Finally he says. "What did you have in mind?"


End file.
